The finer Things

ask me
go ahead.

I see your eyes
nearly trembling
out of your head

they'd rather bleed out

but your mouth
selfish as it is
gorging away
the time
and the fat

thoughts
of what might
squirm around...
a lingering
tickles you in
dangerous places
refused

and you think
this will go away

go ahead
ask me

ask me
if
I give a f*ck

do I?
I'd like you to squirm
a little more
and ask me again
until you realize
our answers
are questions

rotting

compost doesn't care
what it feeds

and this has no interest in taste